by Selena Kitt
She had a million Frankie texts, most of which read—ru ok?
Tilly quickly texted her back, assuring her that she was, indeed, okay.
My stepbro’s a scrote. I’m in the office. Locked up for my own safety.
Frankie texted back: WTF? Such a douche-canoe. Want Erich to come get you?
She was about to text back, YES! But then, she realized, what would happen if Beast came back, and she wasn’t here?
A hell of a lot worse than a little spanking…
What could be worse? Images from the Bottom Floor drifted through her mind.
Still with Erich? She texted, getting comfortable on the leather sofa.
The text bubble came up, three little dots … and Tilly waited while Frankie typed. And typed. And typed. For Pete’s sake, was she writing a book?
Then the text came in and Tilly read through it with a sinking feeling in her middle. Frankie and Erich were alone, in a little back room. Apparently, there were quite a few private rooms as part of club membership, something that really didn’t surprise her, when she thought about it. Erich, according to Frankie, was an uhhh-mazing kisser, a fact that told Tilly everything she needed to know. She didn’t even need to read the rest of the text-worship. Frankie had fallen for this guy, and when Frankie fell, she fell hard and fast. The girl was a goner.
Frankie texted her, like an afterthought, Erich asked me to go home with him tonight but I told him I had to drive you home.
Well, hell. She didn’t want to be responsible for cock blocking her best friend’s chances with Erich the Terrific. Or, in Tilly’s case, since she didn’t actually have a cock with which to block anything, it would be more like clam jamming. Tilly texted Frankie back, telling her to go ahead. She’d get a ride from Beast.
Did the douche-nozzle tell you what he does here? Frankie texted back.
Tilly rolled her eyes, texting, No. He still won’t tell me. Did you ask Erich?
Those three dots appeared again. … Then disappeared. Then came back. Finally, Frankie texted, I can ask him?
She obviously didn’t want to. And Tilly didn’t blame her. She was probably interrupting a hot petting session with her text messages as it was. Best to end this now.
It’s ok. Call me tomorrow!
Then she texted Beast, How long?
The reply came back, As long as I require. Be good.
Tilly snorted. A typically Beast-like response.
Be good? She thought. What else does he expect me to do? Set the place on fire? Scribble all over the receipt books?
Frankie was right, though. Beast treated her like a child.
Not that Tilly’s recent attitude or demeanor was going to change that. She’d been acting the role of pesky kid sister since he’d been home. It was like she couldn’t help herself. His treatment of her somehow inspired her behavior.
No one else is responsible for your behavior, Tilly. Her mother’s voice. It gave her a chill. In the end, you are the only one responsible for your choices and the only one who can answer for them.
Right. This from the woman who watched her like a hawk and wouldn’t even let her have a dog, while Beast traveled all over the country and did whatever the hell he felt like. He could abandon them for years without even a phone call on Christmas, only to be welcomed home afterward like some prodigal son.
Feeling tired and resigned, Tilly curled up on the big leather couch. There was nothing else to do anyway. Alcohol might help break down her defenses, but if she drank more than two shots, it always just made her sleepy and a little nauseous.
Tilly still vaguely remembered the dream she’d had the last time she fell asleep there. Something about a dog collar? Funny, given tonight’s events. Or maybe not so funny. She closed her eyes and let herself drift off.
Her dreams that night were disjointed, strange, filled with all new imagery.
A woman in riding gear, leading a pony girl by the reins, walked up to her and cracked her whip.
“Get down,” she said, and Tilly got down on all fours. The pony girl got down on all fours behind her, and the next thing she knew, a gigantic tongue licked her pussy from behind—and then it was licking her ass. The tongue went deeper and deeper, and Tilly was shocked but incredibly turned on. The tongue began to thicken.
Then, without apparent explanation, Tilly found herself lashed to a St. Andrew’s cross. Men in masks gripped various parts of her body, feeling her, examining her.
“You’re a natural,” said one, and Tilly felt her pussy swelling.
She was massaged with warm, scented oil all over. More people came towards her as a woman in riding gear gave the crowd an unnaturally big smile and asked, “Want to watch?”
A dog barked somewhere.
“It’s the lifestyle,” said another, and Tilly heard mechanical sounds like clicking and the adjusting of metal parts. There was a buzzing sound. Something began to enter her, and she moaned. She became more and more excited.
Hovering around all this, vaguely, and on the outside of the masks and faces was another mask, one that scared her a little. As the fucking machine made her more and more excited, this mask came closer. Eventually, she realized the person behind the mask, a man, was operating the machine.
It was Beast.
Tilly awoke with a start. Somewhere in the building, music thumped loudly. She got up and went to the desk for a tissue, and carefully wiped herself between the legs. She smelled like sex, like she’d been fucking for days.
You wish.
Somewhere in the building—or maybe back at Erich’s place—Frankie was getting laid, and Tilly would hear about it in explicit detail. Far too explicit, to be sure. And Tilly would have nothing to tell, except that she’d had a strange, surreal wet dream about the weird people she’d seen tonight, and—
And Beast.
As if just thinking about him had conjured his presence, keys rattled in the door. Her ass clenched as he came into the room, his bulk filling the doorway and she looked at him, half-expectantly. Would he throw her over his knee again? Pull up her skirt?
Would he “punish” her?
That phrase took on a new meaning tonight and she straightened as he came into the room, holding her breath, prepared for the worst. Although she wasn’t quite so sure it was the worst thing, not anymore.
He came over to her—dressed in khakis and a polo again, no more playing pirate—and reached for her hand. She hesitated, but she took it, and he laced his fingers with hers, pulling her to standing.
“Come on,” he said softly. “Let’s get you home to bed.”
“So what have you been doing?” she asked as he led her out of the office, locking it behind him.
No answer.
“What do you do here?” She tried again as he led her down the evil little flight of stairs to the outdoors and into the parking lot.
Still no answer.
Curiosity and sleepiness fought a battle in her chest. A cool, fresh breeze woke Tilly up a little, but she found now she could hardly wait to be home in her own bed. Beast put her in the car, got in, and they drove off.
They sped through the empty warehouse district, each building like the one next to it, the whole landscape brightly but eerily lit. It was as if they were in some post-apocalyptic movie, the last two people on earth. She didn’t ask him any more questions.
Tilly felt a kind of sadness she couldn’t quite identify. Probably just drunk—sleepy-drunk, she reminded herself, leaning her head against the passenger side window. Beast steered the Mustang expertly down nearly empty streets and highways. It was late. After two in the morning. Even the bars and clubs were closed.
At a red light, a young man in a silver Porsche pulled up beside them and stopped, revving his engine in challenge. Beast didn’t even look at him. As the light changed, the Porsche squealed away. Beast put the Mustang in gear and pulled out vigorously but at a more sensible pace.
Finally, they pulled into the driveway. Tilly realized she’d had
way more to drink than she was used to when she tried to get out of the car by herself in heels and nearly broke her neck. If Beast hadn’t been there, she would have ended up on the pavement.
He gave a sigh and picked her up. This time, he didn’t sling her over his shoulder, but carried her like a groom crossing the threshold with his bride. He didn’t turn any lights on as they went into the house. He stopped so Tilly could reset the alarm—it took her three tries, because the numbers swam away. They kept changing position.
“I can walk,” she insisted, but her voice was slurred and she closed her eyes, resting her head in the crook of his shoulder as he climbed the stairs with her still tucked into his arms. She’d forgotten how easily, how well, they fit together. A lump rose in her throat as he pushed open her bedroom door.
Gently, he set her down on her feet next to her bed, still in the dark. A little moonlight came in through the open curtains, fluttering slightly in a light breeze. She tottered in her heels and might have fallen onto the bed in sheer exhaustion if Beast hadn’t caught her by the elbows.
“Wait,” he said, holding her up.
Tilly wondered for one, brief, breath-holding moment, if he was going to kiss her. She met his moon-wet eyes, saw him looking at her, the way his gaze dropped, just for a moment, to her lips. She pleaded silently with him, even felt her body leaning in to his, using her dizziness as the perfect rationale. She was drunk—it would be so easy to give into him now, here, like this, and justify it in the morning.
Kiss me. Goddamnit, please, for the love of all that’s holy, just kiss me…
But he didn’t.
Quietly, he unzipped her skirt and let it drop to the floor. He helped her step out of it, and then sat her on the edge of the bed. He lifted her feet and took her heels off, one by one, then laid her back on the bed and pulled the covers over her.
Tilly felt his firm lips brush her cheek—a sweet, brotherly good night kiss—but at the last moment, she turned her head and their lips touched.
Beast gasped.
“No spanking?” she whispered.
“Go to sleep,” he said hoarsely, and then left.
Chapter 7
Tilly had rolled her eyes when her mother said they were giving Beast a “welcome home” pool party, but she didn’t do it where Liv could see her. A welcome home party for the stepbrother she’d hardly seen since he’d been back? And it had been almost a month since his return when her mother suddenly decided they needed some sort of official “welcome home” thing! Why, Tilly had no idea, but it seemed to make Liv happy to have something to plan, so she went along.
Besides, she knew it would give her a chance to see her Aunt Meg—and more importantly, Miles—and that was a good enough reason for her. They hadn’t see Meg since Easter, when her mother had told them about her diagnosis. Tilly had still been in school, home for spring break, and she’d had a blast coloring eggs with Miles and putting them back into the fridge for the “Easter Bunny” to hide on Easter morning.
Until Liv had revealed her awful news, relaying it over Easter ham like she’d been saying, “Pass the potatoes.” In fact, Tilly remembered her following up her cancer diagnosis with that particular phrase. Meg was her mother’s only living blood relative, her older sister, and she’d taken it pretty hard. Maybe her mother knew Meg would have given in to histrionics if she had given her the chance, and so blurting it out at a family gathering seemed safest. Liv hated emotional scenes, after all.
It would give Tilly a good excuse to spend time with Frankie, too, who was coming to spend the night. Predictably enough, Frankie had started seeing a lot of Erich. Which meant Tilly saw less and less of her. This would be the first sleepover they’d had since they’d first gone to The Block together and Tilly was looking forward to it. She was hoping Meg would let Miles stay over, too. They’d make popcorn and watch Frozen for the billionth time—the sing-a-long version where they could read the lyrics and follow the bouncing snowflake, although in truth they had the lyrics well-memorized—and Tilly would let Miles squirt Hersey’s Syrup into the popcorn bowl.
The only problem with the whole idea was that Beast was invited and she was going to be forced to see him. Well, that and she had to wear a bathing suit. She was not looking forward to either.
Luckily, so far, Beast hadn’t shown up to his own welcome home pool party, even two hours in, and while Tilly had her suit on under her cover-up, she had avoided the water. Frankie stayed out, too, working on her tan, the girls lounging on chaise chairs spread with beach towels while people Tilly hardly knew milled around the enormous pool—some at tables with umbrellas, others in comfortable lawn chairs.
Tilly glanced over at her mother—who had refused to use the wheelchair, insisting on walking out to the pool herself, which was no small feat, given how much landscape, manicured lawn was between the back door and the pool—and saw Liv sitting at an umbrella table, surrounded by people holding drinks, all of them making smiling small talk. Liv had her best wig on—the one that made her look like Julianne Moore. Her mother had smiled when Tilly told her that, clearly pleased by the comparison.
This time last year, Tilly realized, they would have been in the Hamptons—her mother’s preferred summer residence. Maybe this was her mother’s attempt to recreate that, she thought, hearing Liv’s high, light laugh drifting over. At least she was having a good time, even if she did look pale, her own freckles, inherited by her daughter, standing out on her cheeks. Tilly just hoped she wasn’t overdoing it.
“What a twatwaffle,” Frankie said, opening one eye and looking at Tilly. “He couldn’t even make it to his own party?”
“Right?” Tilly snorted, rolling her eyes, shading them to look toward the house. Frankie must have thought she was watching for Beast, although in truth, she’d been keeping an eye out for Meg and Kate—with Miles in tow. Meg had texted earlier, saying Miles had gone down late for his nap, so they were running behind. That was an hour ago.
As if on cue, the back French doors opened and Miles burst through. He was a bundle of energy, wherever he went. The kid never stopped moving, even in his sleep. Tilly had babysat enough to know, had watched his little fingers and toes twitching, as if he could only more fully experience his dreams by being kinetically connected to them. Tilly felt her heart leap at the sight of him and she smiled when the little boy stopped short at Liv’s table. He’d seen her first.
“Auntie Liv!” he howled, throwing his beefy arms around Tilly’s mother’s thin neck. At almost four, he was just starting to lose his baby fat, his face thinning out, but he was still a solid little guy. Megan came up behind him, already scolding. Tilly couldn’t hear them from here, but she knew her Aunt Megan was reminding him that Liv was “fragile”—she could tell, just from her mother’s reaction, the way her lips thinned in response to Meg’s words.
Meg was like a shorter, fatter, “funner” version of Tilly’s mother. Meg had the same red hair and blue eyes, although on Meg’s frame, those features made her look more like a Weasley than her tall, statuesque sister. She was older, too—forty-five to Liv’s just-turned-forty. Tilly had done the math long ago, realizing how young her mother had been when Tilly was born, but it was something they didn’t talk about. Just like they never mentioned Tilly’s biological father’s existence, although logically, she was sure he existed, or had existed. Tilly often joked with Frankie that she’d been an immaculate conception, to which Frankie would heartily agree, given Liv’s eternally cool demeanor.
Kate trailed behind Meg carrying towels and other pool paraphernalia, smiling and nodding and saying hello to Liv, who nodded back, but in typical Liv fashion, she managed to be polite while still not really acknowledging the woman existed. Poor Kate. She’d been Meg’s “roommate” for fifteen years, but Liv refused to acknowledge her as Meg’s partner. Not that Meg was one to advertise it. She knew how her sister felt and kept things to herself. Meg had never come out to anyone in the family except Tilly—although she was pretty
sure Beast knew. Hell, everyone had to know, even if they didn’t talk about it or say anything. She remembered overhearing her stepfather, Conrad-the-second, mentioning something about it once to his wife, and Liv shutting him down right away. When Meg and Kate had adopted Miles, Tilly thought for sure her mother would have to finally acknowledge that they were a “couple,” but no.
Liv adored Miles to pieces, doting on him—the same way she always had with Beast, Tilly realized—but Kate was still mostly invisible to her. But Tilly loved Kate, almost as much as she loved Meg. They were well-suited to each other. They both loved animals—they donated both money and time to local shelters—and before Miles came along, they had a menagerie of them. Three dogs and four cats, at last count, and that didn’t include the gecko, iguana and boa constrictor. Kate had a thing for reptiles.
